It's A Nuclear Show And The Stars Are Gone
by SophBraxt
Summary: A little bit a danger, some tension, and a dash of disregard for S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol is one hell of a cocktail.
1. Mutant Cramp Balls

It's late. Time-wise and also deadline-wise, which is exactly the problem. I can't go to bed or eat or shower or even leave the lab until I'm through analysing these stupid samples from some "suspicious fungus" collected by some hikers in Manitoba.

Sure, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s "better safe than sorry" policy is great when it's saving Fury from having to explain to world leaders that things like alien invasions and destructive emotional outbursts courtesy of accidental superhumans happened right under the noses of the planet's best fixers of international (and occasionally interplanetary) "problems". This policy is far less awesome when it leads to me, in my lab at 1:26 a.m. with only some spores for company.

I tried to explain to Agent Coulson that this wasn't really my field and that mycology was never my strong suit, but he just did that sort of pleasant half-smile, half tight-lipped, 'barely-tolerating-your-nonsense' thing with his face before he squeezed my shoulder and told me that he and Director Fury appreciated my dedication. Right.

When I realize that I'm in it for the long-haul, I shrug off my lab coat and loosen the tie around my neck. If there's one thing I've learned in my time in labs, it's that there's little point keeping up appearances for the likes of spores. Rolling my shoulders and stretching a bit, I try to mentally prepare myself for another hour or so of thorough inspection of what is almost definitely just a harmless mutation of Daldinia concentrica (commonly referred to as King Albert Cakes or, more crudely, "Cramp Balls").

I've surrendered myself to my boring reality for the night when I hear the door of one of the vehicles outside of the lab close. Skye is already crossing the floor to the spiral staircase at the other end of the room, laptop cradled in her arms, when I catch her eye. I notice immediately that she looks tired and a little disheveled, like maybe she's fallen asleep in the backseat of the car. She doesn't seem to notice me, and begins climbing the spiral steps. Her shoulders seem unmistakably "slumped" as she rises up the steps and out of sight.

I'll be the first to admit that I have, at best, a tenuous grasp on the discipline of psychology, but it hasn't escaped even my attention that something's been 'off' with Skye the last few days. By which I mean she's been noticeably less confrontational with Ward and she's barely even mentioned any field work that's beyond her capabilities and/or training in the last week, maybe more. Fitz says he thinks she's just settling into her seat on the bus, but she's been spending a lot of time in that car and she looks decidedly unsettled.

Before I can fixate on Skye's odd behavior, the timer on the counter buzzes, demanding my attention. I turn back to the samples, still not exactly sure what it is I should looking for. But then, it notice something a little…off.

Upon closer inspection, it appears as though this might not be a harmless Cramp Ball mutation after all.

I am not what you might call 'athletic'.

It's true that you have to possess a certain degree of athleticism to be a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but they tend to give a little leeway to squints, as we're here to out-science our adversaries, not outrun them.

As I reach the top step after sprinting out of the lab and bounding up the stairs, I begin to think that maybe I ought to put a little bit more effort into fitness before I'm due for my next physical. Panting, I step into the large room at the top of the stairs and bend over, placing my hands on my knees and trying to catch my breath.

"For the first time in history, fungus is literally breathtaking," I mutter, shaking my head.

When I feel like I've regained my composure and control of my own lungs, I straighten and make my way towards the front of the plane to Coulson's office. It's only after I knock three times that I remember that it's after one in the morning and it's very unlikely that Agent Coulson is in his office.

For a moment, I consider whether or not I should wake him. I mean, it is a _fungus_ we're talking about. I mean, sure, it's a mutant irradiated fungus. And even so, it's not the fungus that's the problem, it's what's probably _underneath _the fungus.

However, what's underneath it is likely a pretty big problem.

I take a deep breath and raise my hand to knock on the door of his pod.

"He's not in there."

Startled, I whip around to find Skye, leaning against the door of her own pod. She's changed, now wearing a pair of small cotton sleep shorts and a too-large T-shirt with a pig on it. I realize I've been taking in her outfit for a few moments too long and redirect my gaze back to her face. There, I find her smirking with a glint of amusement in her eyes, behind a pair of large, black, plastic-framed glasses that I didn't know she wore. I notice the dark circles under her eyes, but I'm relatively certain that this is the first time I've seen her crack a smile in over a week. All at once, I realize how pleasant it is, seeing her smile.

I shake my head and clear my throat, cursing the fact that being discreet has never been my strong suit. Skye lets a few moments pass before she decides to speak again, saving me from my embarrassment, which I'm sure is displayed plainly on my cheeks.

"He's in the cockpit. With May."

I nod, "Oh, I just needed to..." I wince as I realize how this is going to sound, "warn him about the fungus."

Skye's eyes widen comically as she let's out a small laugh. "Seriously? Gross. Don't tell me he-"

"No, not at all. Forest fungus. From Manitoba."

Skye nods, but a hint of a smile remains on her face. "So you've got to warn him? What's the deal?"

Considering I'm not entirely sure what it is myself, I stumble a bit on a make-shift explanation. "It's, erm-well, I _think _it's some kind of radiotrophic fungus. I mean, at first I thought it was just cramp balls, but then-"

"Cramp balls?"

"Er, it's a type of fungus. Offensively ugly, mostly harmless, and completely devoid of any of the cramp-preventing abilities that gave it its name."

"I see. So it's not cramp balls, then?"

I shake my head, "No. I mean, I don't think so. I _think _this fungus started growing on dead organic material, but the samples I have show some kind of chemosynthetic abilities."

Skye narrows her eyes, clearly not understanding. "Riiiiight. And this is a bad thing, I'm guessing?"

"Possibly. Probably. The fungus appears to have taken in a bit of gamma radiation."

"Ah-ha. No idea what it means, but it sounds bad. You're right, definitely a Coulson problem." She takes a few steps toward me before moving past me in the narrow hallway. It's almost imperceptible, barely there, and I very nearly don't even feel it when she puts one of her hands just above my hip as she slides past me in the hallway. I might not have felt it at all if her fingers hadn't lingered for just a second too long, and if the plane hadn't hit a low-pressure point just then, causing Skye to adjust her footing and take a small step towards me as her fingertips grazed my abdomen when she brought her hands back to her sides.

In the next moment, she's walking away from me, headed towards the set of hallways that lead to the cockpit. It's then that I realise that her shorts are really quite short and that even in a ratty t-shirt she-

"Coming?"

She's smirking again as she turns around to make sure I'm following her.

I clear my throat again, "Oh, yeah." I keep my head down, trying (and failing) to hide the blush on my cheeks as I catch up to her. Preoccupied, I miss the turnoff for the passage that leads through the lounge and into the cockpit. Before I can get too far, she's grabbing my wrist and gently pulling me to the right.

"This way, Simmons."


	2. No Comment

Chapter 2: "No Comment"

I'm beginning to reconsider the importance of this fungus all over again when we're standing outside the door to the cockpit.

"Go on, then. Knock," Skye motions towards the door with her hand.

"I'm not knocking. May hates people coming to the cockpit. You knock." I bite my lip, feeling a little ridiculous.

"Are you kidding me?" Skye hisses, "I'm not knocking. She already hates me."

"Exactly!" I say without thinking. A real ball of tenderness and consideration for others feelings, me.

Skye crosses her arms and glares at me over the top rim of her glasses. I open my mouth to apologize, but still firmly insist that _she _be the one who knocks when the door opens from the inside.

Coulson's standing on the other side of it, wearing a red bathrobe with a Starfleet insignia embroidered on the left-hand side.

"Yes?" He asks, the hint of mirth in his eyes making it obvious that he'd overheard us.

"Oh, hi, Agent Coulson. I just-"

"A.C., uh, why are you wearing a Star Trek bathrobe?" Skye cuts in, getting to the more pressing issue immediately.

Coulson turns his attention to Skye, "It's one thirty in the morning. Why are you wearing an old rag with a pig on it?"

"Hey!" She defends, "I found this in the dumpster behind the secondhand store while I had my van parked in its alley. Can you believe someone was going to throw it away?" She shakes her head in disbelief. "Good thing I saved it, right?"

Coulson blinks at her for a moment, not saying anything, before he turns his attention to me.

"What did you find, Simmons?"

I glance sideways at Skye, who's rolling her eyes. "Well, I, uh, I found some evidence of gamma radiation in the fungus. It's like nothing I've seen before. Clearly mutated. I think it began growing on some kind of decaying organic mat-"

"Gamma radiation? How much?"

I do my best to come up with an accurate estimate, "Enough. Too much for fungi samples"

"Do you feel sick?" Coulson's expression betrays a hint of concern.

I shake my head, "No, I'm fine. The samples were small and the levels were low. Barely there, really. Someone may want to check up on those hikers, though."

Coulson nods, "I'll get someone on it."

He turns to Skye, whose arms are folded over her chest in a statement that clearly says, 'I'm still mad that you made fun of my pig shirt.'

Smirking, he says, "Skye, keep an eye on Simmons. The last thing we need is our expert down for the count with radiation sickness."

I cut in to protest as Skye nods, "Really, I'm fine. And I told you, mycology _isn't _my field. I'm not the expert here, we should really get someone who-"

Coulson doesn't appear to be listening as he leans back into the cockpit to tell May that we're going to Manitoba. He turns back to us, clearly not interested in my protests "Good work, Simmons."

"Thanks. But, I'm not sure what, exactly, we're dealing with. I mean, it could be nothing but-"

"But you made the right call. We'll know more when we land in a few hours. Go get some sleep." He gives me one of his signature Coulson tight-lipped smiles and goes to shut the door to the cockpit when he turns back for a moment.

"I mean it, Skye. Keep an eye on her."

Skye salutes, "You got it, A.C."

She turns to me after Coulson's closed the cockpit door. "Well done, Simmons. You're a regular fungal superhero."

She pats me on the back, as we walk back through the lounge towards our pods.

When we arrive, I stop at my door, which is two doors down from Skye's, with May's pod in between ours.

"Well, this is me," I say lamely. Skye stops a few paces in front me at the door to her own pod before turning around.

"You sure you're alright? I mean, what about the radiation sickness?"

I almost laugh, but manage a smirk instead. "There wasn't enough radiation in the samples to make a fruit fly sick. I suspect Agent Coulson understood that and was trying to-"

"Mess with me. Got it." Skye shakes her head and laughs lightly. "So, you'll be alright."

I nod resolutely, "Just fine. Apart from my skin turning green, probably."

Her eyes widen comically.

"Kidding," I add quickly. "Really, it's not a big deal."

Skye still looks skeptical, but she lets it go. "Alright, if you say so. But if you start feeling a little green around the gills, come find me?"

The urge to fake a cough is fleeting, but present nonetheless. Instead I nod, covering my mouth with the back of hand, as a yawn escapes of its own volition. All at once my body seems to become hyper-aware of the fact that it's been a very long time since I've slept.

"You must exhausted. I'll let you get some sleep. Big day tomorrow."

I take my hand away from my mouth and go to open the door to my pod. "Seems that way," I respond, keying in the code to open the door. "Hope you're ready for the cold. Manitoba is pretty frigid this time of year. Or any time of the year, really. It's-"

Skye cuts in, "Simmons, you're bleeding."

Before I can respond, she's in front of me, her face a map of lines that spell out her concern.

"Simmons?"

She takes one more step closer and I think about taking a step back. I could honestly count the number of times she's been this close to me on one hand, I think. I can almost feel my brain buzzing and whirring as it misfires, the urge to step away fiercely battling the one that refuses. By some miracle, my fingers manage to find their way to my face, feeling around for a moment before my index finger happens upon something slick near my left nostril.

I pull my hand away to inspect the damage and, sure enough, I have a nosebleed.

This is not an especially disconcerting development. Nosebleeds are frequent. Not to me, particularly, but seeing as it's hardly gushing like Ol' Faithful, I'm not overly concerned.

I key in the code to my pod quickly, then lean in to grab a tissue from the nook beside my bed and dab away the blood.

"There," I say, standing in front of Skye once again. "See? Nothing to worry about." I attempt to smile, but even as I do so, I can feel more blood beginning to trickle from my nose. Catching it before it can get far, I go over a mental checklist of possible ailments that might lead to symptoms like nosebleeds given my activity for the past few days.

The obvious answers are a) radiation sickness (not likely, considering I'm absolutely positive that the amount of radiation in the samples was well below the 'dangerous' threshold) or b) fungal infection. The latter is plausible, I suppose, but I don't share this with Skye.

Instead, I say, "Really, Skye, I'm fine. It's nothing." As soon as the words leave my lips, I want to take them back. Immediately, as if egged on by my misplaced confidence, my vision darkens around the edges and my lungs feel like the air is being forced from them.

"Simmons, I'm not-"

She stops short when I throw a hand out to steady myself on the threshold of my pod. Before I can say 'What's that bright light?', her hands on my arms, steadying me.

"Jesus Christ, Simmons. Clearly not nothing."

In the next moment, she's steering me into my pod and forcing me to sit on the bed.

Her voice is uneven when she says, "Do you want me to get Fitz?"

I'm shocked at the suggestion. I hadn't even considered getting Fitz, really.

"Fitz? Why would we get Fitz?"

Skye shrugs, "I don't know, because he's-"

"Completely useless in situations involving blood?"

She nods slowly, "I see your point."

A beat passes before Skye crouches down in front of me so she's on eye level. She presses a hand to my cheek, checking my temperature. Her expression darkens when I shiver.

I can tell from her reaction that I must feel a bit warm, which would explain the chills to some degree. Whether or not this is the result of a _fever _may be up for debate.

"Jemma, there is no way I'm leaving you alone all night."

It doesn't escape my notice that this is the first time she's ever used my first name. "Skye, really, I'm fine. It's just-"

"Listen, it's either me or Coulson. You choose."

I can feel a grimace settle on my face.

"Yeah," Skye smirks, "that's what I thought."

After a bit more useless protesting, I'm crawling into bed as Skye opens her laptop in the corner.

Our pods are just big enough to fit a small bed with about two feet of space at the foot of them. This, I think, is considered our 'living room'. In the living room, there's exactly one plastic chair, lauded for neither its comfort nor its aesthetic appeal. Still, Skye insisted upon staying with me tonight.

"_I'm not tired," _she'd said, "_And I haven't been able to sleep anyway. I'll just hang out on reddit. Besides, my pod's a black hole for wifi and I can't get to sleep without my computer. So you'll be doing me a favor, really."_

Clearly, I conceded.

"Are you sure you'll be comfortable there?" I hesitate for a moment, "I mean, if you wanted to take half the bed, it's plenty big enough. That's chair's horribly-"

"Jem, I'll be fine here. Seriously."

If she noticed my relatively sharp intake of breath when she used my nickname, she doesn't let on.

"Besides," she continues, "I'm here to keep watch and make sure you don't die, remember? I mean, do you actually _know _what's wrong with you?"

"No comment."

I pause a moment before continuing, "Skye, honestly, it's not a big deal. We'll be on the ground tomorrow and I'll make a few calls and figure out what's going on. It's probably just an allergy."

Skye remains unconvinced, but doesn't say as much. Instead, she goes back to typing, probably googling radiation allergies. With any luck I'll be asleep before she finds her way to WebMD.

Giving up, I turn out the lights next to my bed. "Really, Skye, if you get cold or tired, I promise you that I'll be fine. You can-"

"Right. Go back to my pod. I heard you the first four times."

Nodding, I settle into my bed. "Alright. So long as you know."

I can almost hear her eyes roll from across the 'room'.

"I know."

I'm almost asleep when something occurs to me.

"Skye?"

"Hmm?"

"Is your pod really a dead zone? For wifi, I mean?"

She doesn't answer immediately, but I can hear the smirk in her voice when she throws my own words back at me.

"No comment."


	3. Centimeters

A/N:

I know, I'm a jerk. I promised this and didn't deliver, which is a thing we all hate. I'm sorry and I hope you all had a very happy holiday. And did I mention that you look, like, REALLY great today? Looking good, my friend. Keep it up.

This is, as promised, Chapter 3. Things are happening. Plots are developing. It's getting fun. Also, it seems like Coulson may or may not be a big-time Skimmons shipper. Who knew?

I hope you enjoy it and I hope it was worth the wait. Thanks so much for reading and commenting/leaving kudos/asks/feedback/reviews/favorites/bookmarks/subscriptions/following etc. You've all been very kind and I really appreciate it!

Oh, and if you'd prefer to read it on AO3, head over HERE.

Chapter 3: Centimeters

I wake with a start a little more than an hour later, feeling quite a bit worse than when I fell asleep. The room is quiet now and completely dark, save for the soft glow coming from Skye's laptop in the corner.

Noticing she's not in the chair or by her computer, I scramble to pull myself up and scan the room. I immediately regret moving so quickly, though, as I feel almost unbearably lightheaded as a result. I wince, touching my temples gingerly with my fingertips.

"Skye?" I whisper into the dark. My words give way to a few short, violent coughs, but I recover quickly as panic takes over. I scan the room, willing my eyes to adjust, but only manage to see a whole lot of darkness.

"Hey," she says softly. I hear her before I see her. Blindly, I reach for the panel next to my bed to turn on the small blue light near the foot of my bed. It's dim, but it bathes the room in enough light for me to find Skye half-sitting, half-lying on the floor next to my bed, propped up on her elbows.

"Sorry," she says, "I hope I didn't wake you. I got cold and it was in your closet…"

Looking down, I see that she's wearing the massive jumper I got from the Academy after we had that scare in plagues and endemics training in our first year and had to burn all of our clothes. It has a "S.H.I.E.L.D." emblazoned on it it large, block letters with the screaming chicken logo underneath it.

"I, er, hope you don't mind?" Skye bites the corner of her bottom lip nervously.

"No, no, of course not. It looks good on you, actually." Hadn't necessarily meant to say that.

"Thanks." The amused grin on her face impossible to miss even in the low light.

It dawns on me that she looks like she was settling in to sleep on the floor. The spare blanket from under the bed is draped over her legs and she was definitely lying down before I turned on the light.

"Were you going to sleep on the floor?"

Skye nods, "Yeah, I-"

I sit up a little straighter, incredulous. "Absolutely not. You're not sleeping on the floor, Skye. Get up here. The bed's plenty big."

Clearly caught off guard, Skye doesn't respond immediately. "Jem, really, it's fine. I'll be-"

"Skye, honestly, if you're going to stay in here, you aren't sleeping on the floor. I promise you that whatever I have isn't contagious. Probably. And if it is, you've likely already caught it due to the confined space. So the damage is done, really. You don't have to worry about catching it at this point."

Skye looks surprised, "Catching it? I'm not worried about catching it," she looks thoughtful, "well, actually, I am a little bit now that you've mentioned it. But if you say-"

"What are you worried about then?"

She fumbles with her words. "Um, well, I mean-"

"Skye, just get in the bed."

This time, she doesn't try to protest. Looking as nervous as she did when we pulled her out of her van and brought her onto the bus, Skye climbs up from the foot of the bed and slides in under the covers that I've thrown aside for her. After a few moments, she settles in, her back facing me.

"See? Much better than the floor isn't it?"

I can practically hear her eyes roll in their sockets as she says, "When you're right, you're right. Biochemist and certified Serta mattress expert to boot. How did S.H.I.E.L.D. get so lucky?"

Chuckling, I turn off the light and settle back into the bed on my own side. "It wasn't so much luck as it was doughnuts."

"Doughnuts?" Skye shifts a little bit.

I nod, "MI6 only had terrible, stale finger sandwiches at their open day. S.H.I.E.L.D. had doughnuts and I'm a sucker for doughnuts."

The bed rumbles slightly as Skye laughs, "I'll have to remember that."

I shift slightly, trying to get comfortable again. Inadvertently, my knee grazes Skye's thigh. Hoping she didn't hear my sharp intake of breath, I fidget for another moment or two before settling, glad that it's too dark for her to see the blush creeping onto my cheeks. The bed is technically plenty big for the both of us, but not by much. S.H.I.E.L.D. was nothing if not efficient when it came to saving space on the bus. All told, there's room for us with about twenty centimeters of space between us.

I try not to focus on that number and how very, very small it is.

Over the hum of the plane's engines, I can just barely hearSkye's breath begin to even out, but I can tell she's not quite asleep yet.

"Skye?"

"Forget it, Simmons. I'm staying."

I smile a little at that. "That's not what I was…Well, I just wanted to say thanks. For staying." I feel the need to add, "Even if it was completely unnecessary because I'm sure it's just a-"

"You're welcome, Jem." She turns over to face me, even though I can't see her face in the dark. "Just don't die on me or anything, alright? I'm not super into being emotionally scarred for the rest of my life because I woke up next to your corpse. I have to a S.H.I.E.L.D. psych eval to pass."

"Charming pillow talk," I smirk. "I promise not to die. But take solace in the fact that if I did, I'd do my best to give you the answers from the grave."

"Gee, thanks. Because talking to a ghost during a psych eval should definitelyhelp."

"I see your point. Well, good job I don't plan on dying, then."

"Yeah," I can hear the smile in her voice, "I guess it is."

I go to close my eyes when, without warning, a sharp, searing pain radiates through my body, like my bones are being crushed and inflated all it once. My whole body goes rigid and I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. Despite the excruciating pain, an icy grip in my chest like a massive, frozen hand squeezes the air from my lungs, leaving me still and silent.

Unable to scream or move, I can feel every nerve in my body stand at attention, buzzing and humming with panic that I can't release.

Then, as suddenly as it appeared, the pain seeps from my body, leaving my muscles relaxed and my bones feeling light in its wake. I can finally suck in a deep breath, which alerts Skye's suspicion.

"Jemma?" In a flash she's sitting up, squinting through the darkness and searching my face. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing," I manage to stammer, "I'm fine. Just caught a chill."

She's silent for a moment, probably working out whether or not I'm lying.

In the end, she lets it go, laying back down. She's still facing me, clearly still wrestling with her options: leave and go get Coulson or stay here and take my word for it. I suspect it was the unappealing prospect of having to interact with May to talk to Coulson that keeps her with me.

The next time I open my eyes, the sun is creeping in through the portal near the foot of the bed. It's still early, but at least I've managed to get in a couple of hours of sleep.

She's still asleep and I can't help thinking that the sight of her in that stupid S.H.I.E.L.D Academy jumper is way up there on a list of Most Pleasant Things I've Ever Woken Up To.

All at once, I notice how close she is. The twenty centimeters that existed between us when I closed my eyes has diminished considerably, leaving no more than ten centimeters between her and I. It's when her index finger twitches in her sleep that I realise that her hand is covering mine where it lays between us, her fingertips tucked under my palm and her little finger laced with mine.

I do my level-best to keep from moving as I trace every visible part of her with my eyes.

I don't know that I've ever looked at Skye like this. I mean, really looked at her. With her hair partially covering her face and her big, intense brown eyes closed, hidden under her eyelids; with her hands wrapped up in the too-long sleeves of my jumper and her nose buried in the fabric at the crook of her elbow; with her mouth hanging open and a little bit of drool escaping the corner of her lips.

I could say that this is the first moment that I've realised how catastrophically, soul-crushingly beautiful she is, but that would be a lie. It's been this a hundred other moments, all colliding and destroying every feeble attempt I've made to carry on as though she was simply another addition to our team. Our very professional team.

So, this isn't the first time I've realised that she's breathtaking. But this is the first time it's hit me with the force of a low-pressure system-turned-superstorm.

She's asleep in my bed, in my jumper, and there's no taking shelter from a storm this big in a bed this small. I'm hopeless in the face of it and there's nowhere else I'd prefer to be.

Sure, when she wakes up, things will be very much the same. Skye still won't have any idea how much of my mind she occupies. She won't have a clue that I've ever looked at her this way.

Furthermore, I will not have changed either. I'm certainly not about to up-end twenty-six years of carefully perfected introversion to pluck up the courage to talk to her. You know, I mean actually talk to her. Besides which, we work together. There's probably something against even thinking about another agent in the S.H.I.E.L.D. handbook.

It's settled, then. Mentioning any of this to Skye would be the worst idea in the history of bad ideas. She can't know. It's as simple as that.

"Observing me for science?"

A smirk spreads across Skye's face. Her eyes are just barely open, clouded with grogginess and amusement.

"Find anything interesting?"

If there's a correct response to a question like this, I'd love to know what it is.

After opening and closing my mouth a few times in an attempt to say something, I settle on, "You have a freckle. Left temple. It looks fine for now, but you may want to keep an eye on it. You know, make sure it doesn't change shape or colour."

Skye barely hides her smirk as she nods. "Nothing like waking up to a skin cancer scare in the morning," she winks, "you sure know how to treat a girl, Simmons."

I can feel my cheeks burning up, but fail to come up with anything to say in response.

I'm saved from having to, however, when we hear voices in the small corridor outside my door. Faster than you can say "Cramp Balls", Skye is up, out of the bed, and crouched near the door, listening. Quite a bit more slowly and much less noiselessly, I follow, crouching next to her.

"It sounds like Coulson and May," she whispers.

I hear a faint rumble of voices and nod in agreement. Following the sounds of a few footsteps, their voices become clearer.

"I just don't think we should take any chances. Being discreet is important, but not at the risk of putting our team in danger," Coulson says, "Besides, the S.H.I.E.L.D. PR team could use a little action. Everything that's happened in the wake of the Battle of New York has been positively dull by comparison."

Predictably, May says nothing in response. I think it's safe to assume that she's said all she needs to with a withering stare.

Skye turns to me. "What do you think they're talking about?"

I shrug, but before I can answer, the door of my pod opens to reveal Coulson and May. Upon seeing us both crouched on the floor in pyjamas with bed-head, Coulson chuckles.

"Sleepover? How cozy."

Even May looks amused, with the corners of her lips turned upward in a smirk.

"Agent Coulson, sir, we were just-" I begin, standing.

"Looking for my contact," Skye cuts in, standing up next to me. "I was putting it in and dropped it. Clumsy, right?"

Coulson turns his attention to Skye, but looks decidedly unconvinced. Still, he plays along.

"Right," he nods. "Wouldn't want to stumble around blind. You know, not being able to see what's right in front of you." He tacks his signature 'Coulson smile' onto the end.

I may be imagining it, but I could've sworn that when Coulson said "blind", he directed a rather pointed glance in my direction.

"Exactly," Skye nods. Her tone is unreadable and by the time I turn to look at her, her expression is just as indecipherable.

Coulson turns his attention back to me before he speaks again. "Simmons, can you be ready for briefing in the conference room in twenty?"

I nod emphatically, wanting desperately to shift the focus back to work-related problems. I may not be an expert in mycology, but at least with fungi, I'm not completely out of my depth.

Coulson nods, "Good. I'll meet you there. Both of you." He seems to notice Skye's attire for the first time. "Oh, and nice sweatshirt, Skye." With that, he and May turn and continue down the corridor.

Once I'm sure they're out of earshot, I groan and sit back down on the edge of my bed, covering my face with my hands.

"How incredibly embarrassing," I moan, expecting an agreement from Skye. When it doesn't come, I lift my head to look at her. I catch her eyes for only a split second before she turns away, gathering up her laptop. While reading emotion has never been a particular strength of mine, there's no mistaking the flash of hurt that darkens Skye's expression for the briefest of moments.

She's facing the wall, collecting her things when she forces a chuckle and says, "Totally. Super embarrassing."

Before I can backtrack and think of something to say, she's at my door, preparing to open it and head back to her own pod. Without thinking, I stand, putting one hand lightly on her forearm to keep her from walking away from me.

"Skye, that's not what I-"

She's looking past me, at the doorframe as she says, "Right. I kn-Well, don't worry about it." Gently, she slides past me, her shoulder brushing mine softly as she passes. Not knowing what to say, I let her go.

Seventeen minutes later, I'm at standing in front of the large computer panel, waiting for the others to join. Coulson is standing a few feet away from the doors of the conference room, speaking in hushed tones on his cell phone.

Fitz and Skye round the corner, walking towards the conference room. Skye is speaking emphatically, using her hands to illustrate her point. I can't tell what she's saying, but Fitz's expression is a totally confounding mixture of confusion, amusement, and disappointment. Quite abruptly they stop, and Skye puts both of her hands on Fitz's shoulders.

I attempt to put a lid on the surge of envy that courses through me, but fail miserably. In the next moment, Skye's hands are back at her side. She says something else and Fitz looks through the glass walls of the conference room at me. She grabs his chin roughly and turns his face back to her, hissing something at him through her teeth.

"Sorry," I see him mouth, rubbing his chin. He then tries to sneak a more discreet glance at me. I keep telling him that being discreet is not among his many talents, but he fails to understand. It's his turn to speak emphatically, gesturing wildly for a few moments before ending whatever it is he's saying with a shrug.

Skye nods by way of response,

I can hear my pulse in my ears and, with the force of a steam engine with no brakes, the debilitating pain I felt last night comes rushing back through my bones. I stumble backwards until my the backs of my knees hit the seat of a chair, forcing me into it roughly. My muscles burn like they're being shred with a pick axe. I gasp for breath but manage nothing.

I vaguely register the sound of the door of the conference room opening before Coulson is standing over me.

"Jemma?" His voice is muffled.

I attempt to respond, but nothing comes out. My head is buzzing with panic by the time Fitz appears behind Coulson just a few seconds later.

Then, Skye's in front of me, crouched down with both of her hands on my knees. My eyes flick to hers and I can feel the fear radiating off of me. I can see my own panic reflected two-fold in her eyes. I want to scream because the skin under her hands feels like it's on fire, but no breathing means no screaming. Her lips are moving, saying something, but I can't hear her or Coulson or Fitz anymore. All I can hear is the sound of my own blood rushing through my veins, accompanied by a disturbing snapping sound.

The sound fades, giving way to an unbearable low-frequency humming as my vision dims around the edges before I completely lose consciousness.

What feels like hours-but must've only been a matter of minutes-I come to, finding myself on the floor. Blinking against the sudden assault of the bright lights in the conference room, I open my eyes slowly to find Skye and Fitz next to me. Fitz is kneeling to my right while Skye is behind me, her hands supporting the back of my head. Their attention is focused on Coulson and, fortunately, stays there, even as I shudder at the feeling of Skye's hands in my hair and her fingers on the back of my neck.

"Fitz, get Dr. Banner on the phone," Coulson says in his 'down-to-business' voice. I take it as a good sign that I can hear him clearly in the absence of the sound of blood rushing through my veins.

Fitz is taken aback. "What's the Hul-" Coulson shoots him a truly withering glance, stopping him in his tracks.

"Er, I mean, what's Doctor Banner going to do?"

"No idea. But there's no one than Banner when it comes to gamma radiation."

A/N:

Again, thanks for stopping by to read this little piece. I hope you're enjoying it thus far!

And hey, Happy New Year!


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